


Trial by Fire

by NotTheSmoooze



Category: Original Work
Genre: World Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21763771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTheSmoooze/pseuds/NotTheSmoooze
Summary: Most people don't remember their birth for long. Chances are, she'll have a whole lifetime to reminisce about both of hers.
Kudos: 4





	Trial by Fire

Being born again was a lot like dying. The memory of it came to me in quiet moments, haunting me through long hours of half-sleep in the still of night. A cold and gentle void being torn in two by a roaring, sickly green wave of smoke and burning oil, bubbling towards me and pulling me from the blankets of night that stitched my world together. I'd gone into my first life screaming and crying, as babies often do. In my second, I'd been far too afraid to make any noise at all.

Most people don't remember their birth for long. Chances were, I'd have a whole lifetime to reminisce about both of mine. 

_Lucky, lucky me._

Despite the way it had began, my life had soon calmed. A lullaby fell over me, and the days passed like dreams. Sleepy eyes showed me glimpses of a world flashing by. The eyes belonged to a baby without clear shape, and it took me too long to realise that it was _me_. A new flesh, a new skin. I wasn't sure how much 'old' was left.

With every dream-day that flew by, my world grew clearer. The haze retreated to the corners of my eyes, and only rolled back when I grew too tired. 

Every morning and night, a creature in rags would come to me and read, and in my most lucid moments, I could almost make out the words. The creature fed me, cleaned me, and cared for me. They were nothing like my parents, but they were the closest thing I had. Soon, I was calling them 'Fing' — I still struggled with the 'Th' sound — but even as Thing's stories grew clearer to my ears, my curiosity grew faster.

I set to discovering my home. My skin was grey and always slick with sticky oil, no matter how roughly Thing cleaned me, and I left an easy trail to follow, but in the times when they were distracted, I painted a map of my little domain in my mind and held it tight. The edges frayed and slipped between my fingers, but I was a persistent creature, and trial won out over error.

As it turned out, I shared the house — and it was a house, barely — with a hive of fungus, weeds, and other plants. They festooned the cracks in wooden floors and grew in the places cobwebs should've been, and the war between them and Thing's careful cleaning and uprooting was a fierce battle to behold. Never did Thing remove the infestation wholesale, though. At the time, I had no idea why the weeds were allowed to grow in the first place.

Legs stretched, feet learned, and soon, I was walking. I'd practised in secret for weeks, and when I first showed Thing, they roared with delight. Grubby fingers hoisted me and spun me through the air, their cracked lips smothering me in kisses. I had no voice to laugh with, but my body shook with delight, and, for a while, I was happy. That happiness was a young thing, though, and its edges curled like burnt paper when Thing carried me to the one place in my new home that my explorations hadn't yet led me to.

Held tight against Thing's chest, barely more than a toddler, I was carried to the attic.

The smell hit me even before the door opened. A foul reek drifted through slats in blistering walls, much stronger even than the pungent scent from the garden downstairs. My nose rankled, and I buried my face deeper into Thing's rags. 

I saw the room only through the corners of my eyes, unwilling to tear myself away from Thing's chest. Green smoke tinted the room a ripe olive, little clouds blown away from my mouth like breath in winter. Shelves heavy with glass jars, pouches, and sacks of wet mysteries creaked under their burden, and I saw eyes, fingers, ears, and other harvested body parts held in each, enough to stuff each container to bursting. Wilted flowers hung from iron hooks and dangled from the ceiling.

A voice interrupted my investigation. Laughter, old and crooning, it seemed to come from all around me. I finally pulled away from Thing, and found the source.

In the centre of the room lay a cauldron, a great lump of cloth by its side, and I knew I'd seen it once before.

_Sickly green oil, burning apart my world, everything tore itself in two, and-_

I shook, trying to break free from Thing's grasp, but they just held me tighter. Their fingers dug into my back, rough, dirty nails calming me, or trying to, and I watched as the lump by the cauldron's side moved, pulling a great black spoon from somewhere I couldn't see. A sack hung limp over the lump's back, giving the impression of a melting turtle's shell. It dipped the spoon into the bubbling green, long, bony fingers emerging from the cloth, and slowly began to stir. 

"Festus tells me you've been growing, pet," The voice spoke. A old woman's. "Good. I'll not see any child of mine wasting their life away."

She spoke with a knowing twinkle, but somehow turned it sour. I couldn't see her face through all the cloth, but I couldn't help imagining a rotten old hag, yellow with jaundice.

Her voice rose again, still seeming to come from all around me. "You must, however, be sure to _grow properly._ As my child, you are the painter and the muse. The marble and the chisel. Cut carefully, and fashion yourself into a suitable shape. Cut recklessly, and you'll find yourself more like Festus here." 

Her head inclined towards Thing, and I shivered. Thing — Festus, now? No. Still Thing, to me — was a gentle creature, and I'd found a kind of love for them in my time here. It had been impossible not to. Without any other connections, Thing was the only relationship available to me. That didn't mean I wanted to be anything like them, if I could help it.

"Now, now, dear. Don't worry. You already have a perfectly serviceable pattern to follow, no?" I could hear the grin in her words, and I knew she meant my old life, my old body. "You are clay, dear. If you find yourself slipping, simply force yourself into a mold."

I froze, fear momentarily forgotten. I'd been so lost in my little world that I hadn't given a thought to the future. Now that I knew I _had one_ , I couldn't help but wonder what it would look like. If the hag was honest, I could have a say in that.

I spared a thought for my old life. The memories were blurry, but... I didn't remember being very happy. Now that I had a second chance, did I really want to fall into the same self again? There had to be other molds to fill, and if not, well, shaping myself couldn't be too hard, surely?

The hag didn't bother to croon a goodbye. A wave of her bony hand had Thing carrying me back downstairs, and soon, I was left alone to think on her words.

Days passed, then months, then years, and I found myself slipping between shapes. The dream was faint, now, barely there, but the world still felt malleable. With each change to my body, I discovered new clothes filling the draws of the room I'd claimed as mine, and I was certain neither Thing nor the hag had left them there. I painted myself in every colour, anything but grey, before settling on something like skin that shifted between a deep brown and a soft peach. I left the oil that had covered me behind, too. 

Definitely not my old self, but human, or very nearly. I could work with that.

Soon, the dream left the world entirely, retreating within my body. I could still shape myself, but this world hadn't ever seemed so solid, and one day, I found a door.

Daylight broke through the cracks, and I stood, reaching for the handle, for longer than I could remember. Eventually, though, I mustered the will to grab it. I held tight, afraid it would disappear if I let go, and turned. 

When the door opened, I stepped outside into a new world with a new sky. A new smile found my lips, and not-quite-new legs led me forward. 

My world was still small, but before I knew it, I was a little girl in rags running into the unknown. It wouldn't stay unknown for long. I wouldn't let it.


End file.
